


Finding Warmth

by curv



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Mentions of Nimue/Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curv/pseuds/curv
Summary: Merlin finds Nimue after she falls from the Narrows.
Relationships: Merlin & Nimue (Cursed)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Finding Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the finale of Season 1. The relationship between Merlin and Nimue really struck a chord with me, and I could die for just a little more father-daughter time between them. Here’s what my imagination came up with — closure and a happy ending, of sorts.

The water was as cold as ice. 

That was Nimue’s only thought as she plunged beneath the churning surface, immediately disoriented. Which way was up? Which way was down? The silence was deafening and current strong as her body was swept under the frigid water. And it was so, so cold. Her wounds were no pain at all compared to this agonizing coldness that seeped into her very core.

Nimue fought. She swam with all her might, flailing and failing to break the surface. The arrows limited her ability to move. With each desperate stroke of her limbs in the water she felt like nothing more than a gnat caught in molasses. Her swimming seemed futile. There was nowhere to go. Her vision blurred, her lungs burned, and Nimue knew she was going to die.

As Nimue frantically continued to search for any sign of escape from her underwater grave, a light flashed. It was brighter than any sun. Mustering her last bit of strength, she kicked and swam. Bubbles left Nimue’s mouth, leading the way to salvation as flashes continued to light the way to the surface. 

As suddenly as she was swept under, Nimue broke the surface. She took a breath. The sweet air was life itself. She had never felt more grateful for the ability to breathe than in that moment. Nimue focused on treading water, one arm limp and useless, floating as best she could to take one breath at a time. 

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Was that… lightning?

Nimue watched in a mix of awe and horror at the strength of a lightning storm, the likes of which she had never before bore witness to. The strikes were so focused that it could be orchestrated by none other than magic, if not a dream. But who…? Merlin, certainly, could not be the Shadow Lord responsible for this. Impossible. He had no magic.

Unless...

As Nimue watched, the coldness crept deeper into her body. Through her skin, to her bones, making her very heart feel as though it was carved out of ice. Nimue shivered, her sight fading as she drifted on the surface away from the waterfall. Perhaps she wasn’t to drown today, but death was no less further from taking her last breath.

* * *

Nimue woke to a loud sound and the smell of a campfire. 

She inhaled sharply through her nose as she opened her eyes to assess her surroundings. Stars speckled the night sky above, tree branches partially obscuring the constellations. Embers rose with the smoke of the fire in a seeming attempt to join the stars and planets before fading away to ash. The fire itself was small, enough to produce heat but not large enough to attract attention. 

Nimue looked down to see her body was covered in several furs. She twitched her fingers experimentally, taking note that she was not restrained. At the knowledge, she relaxed infinitesimally. She turned to look around and saw a blanket across the fire where someone else must have been sitting. Hope flared in her chest — her first thought, before any other, was that maybe Arthur had come. Had saved her.

“Nimue,” someone said. It was a familiar voice, with a tone of surprise, but it was not her love.

She blinked, unable to see in the darkness far enough to find who had spoken. “Who’s there?” she croaked, struggling to sit upright.

“Nimue,” she heard again, and this time a man emerged from the shadows to rush to her side. He was tall, cloaked, with a sword at his side… the man, truth be told, she had always wanted to see. Her father.

“Merlin,” Nimue said. His name came out as a sigh. The relief of knowing he was there to watch over her made her body relax entirely, and she sank back into the bed of furs in exhaustion. Nimue winced as she settled back, finally noticing the pain in her shoulder and side from the arrows that had struck her.

“Merlin, how—”

“Shh, child,” Merlin said. He was kneeling at her side, there to dab a warm cloth at her brow. “You’re safe.”

“I don’t— where… what happened?” Nimue murmured.

“You’re safe. Rest, now. You need to sleep and heal,” Merlin replied. 

“I…” Nimue searched Merlin’s face, taking in every wrinkle and line illuminated by the fire. She brought a hand from beneath the furs and reached out to touch his cheek.

Merlin caught her hand, setting the cloth aside to hold Nimue’s fingers between his palms. He enclosed her hand easily between his larger ones, using a thumb to stroke her soft skin in comfort.

“Sleep,” Merlin said.

Nimue wasn’t sure what magic he used — or if he used any at all — but she fell asleep swiftly and peacefully.

* * *

When the morning came, birdsong woke Nimue from her slumber. Merlin was once again absent, so this time Nimue used a moment to assess her surroundings and injuries in daylight. The wood was familiar. Ferns and moss lined the forest floor. Thick tree trunks enclosed their campsite. A stream was audible from camp, and Nimue shivered in the cool morning air. The fire had burned out recently, she saw — a thin trail of smoke rose from the charcoal.

Nimue sat up and pulled away her dressings to look at her wounds. Merlin had coated the entry and exit holes from the arrows with a Fey poultice. From the scent, he used peppermint, pine needles, and… 

Footsteps alerted Nimue to someone’s approach. She turned quickly in the direction of the sound, but relaxed when she saw her father approaching with a catch of fish.

“You’re awake,” Merlin stated, offering Nimue a soft smile.

“Yes,” Nimue blushed, covering her chest to preserve her modesty. 

Merlin crouched by the fire, ready to stoke it again to cook them breakfast. Nimue watched his movements. He did everything with a purpose and a flourish. Merlin was not a simple man, and every action he took illustrated the subtle complexities of his character.

“How did you sleep?” Merlin asked casually, arranging the firewood.

“Very well, thank you,” Nimue replied with an air of formality.

“Good.”

They sat in silence while Merlin continued his work. Her father seemed content to let her rest, both physically and in regard to conversation. With the wood placed, Merlin turned his attention to cleaning the fish.

Nimue cleared her throat before asking, “How long have we been here?” 

“Three days,” Merlin said, glancing up to catch her eyes before returning his gaze to the trout.

Nimue’s stomach growled in response, and she blushed before adjusting her position on her bed of furs. She sat up further, draping one across her shoulders for warmth. She managed to only wince slightly at the motion.

“What happened?” Nimue asked.

Merlin slowed his work, then stopped. He set the knife aside, but did not move his eyes from where they were staring down at the fish. 

“You were shot by two arrows,” Merlin said. “You slipped from the bridge. And I could not stop you from falling.”

“I remember,” Nimue said softly. 

There was a silence. “You almost died,” Merlin said. His hands were shaking, and he pressed them onto the ground in front of him to hold them still. Merlin added gruffly, “I thought you _had_ died.”

“Did you save me?” Nimue asked.

“Save you?” Merlin glanced over. “No. I believe you saved yourself. But I pulled you from the river, yes.”

“Merlin…” Nimue said, “I saw magic, up on the bridge. Lightning. The lightning showed me the way, it kept me from drowning.”

Merlin turned his attention back to the fish, continuing to clean them faster than ever. For all Nimue knew, he had not heard her words.

“Was that you, Merlin? Is your magic back?” Nimue pried.

“I am not _proud_ , Nimue.”

“What?”

Merlin threw the knife down and stood, robes swirling in agitation as he spoke. “Nimue, I took the sword. I thought you had died, and I have never felt such grief and anger. _Never_.”

Nimue’s eyes grew wider, understanding dawning. “The sword returned your magic,” she whispered.

“Yes, it did,” Merlin spat. “And I killed every red paladin on that bridge with my magic. I will kill them _all_ , Nimue, for what they did to you,” he sneered. Merlin placed his palm on the pommel of the Sword of Power and a shadow of hate came into his eyes. It scared Nimue, and she moved backward an inch as if spying a poisonous snake on a path.

At Nimue’s reaction, Merlin snapped back. His expression shifted and he released the pommel, blinking.

Setting aside her fear, Nimue asked her final question, “And Morgana? Merlin, is she…”

Merlin’s gaze dropped to the fire, and he kneeled once more. “Morgana will never be the same again, Nimue. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Nimue asked, a hint of panic in her voice.

“Your friend,” Merlin said delicately, “confronted a power beyond a mortal’s comprehension. In payment, she will be lost beyond. We cannot save her.”

Tears welled up in Nimue’s eyes. She brushed them away quickly with the back of her hand. In a quavering voice she asked, “Which way is the stream?”

Merlin averted his gaze to afford his daughter privacy and replied, “To the south.”

“Thank you,” Nimue replied, standing on shaky legs. Merlin looked up at her with a hint of concern, ready to move to her aid, but he allowed her a modicum of independence. To know Nimue was to know himself. 

Nimue followed a deer trail to the water’s edge. She found a boulder on which to sit and focused on the moving ripples while tears streamed down her cheeks. Her life had changed so much in such a short time. Nimue had cheated death more than once — why couldn’t her friends be as lucky? Her mother? The weight of the world pushed down on her shoulders as she sobbed, thinking of home. After a good long while, she calmed her tears with shaky, deep breaths.

Back to the present.

Nimue knelt by the water and cupped her hands to slowly wash the tears from her face. With another motion, she cupped some water and took a sip. What almost took her life was also necessary to sustain it. She bit back a laugh after drinking her fill. Nimue wiped her hands dry on her dress after she stood. She made her way back to camp. 

When Nimue returned, Merlin was sitting cross-legged on his blanket. He turned a spit slowly, roasting the fish over the fire. He didn’t take his eyes from the work, but Nimue noticed how his shoulders relaxed slightly with her arrival. 

Nimue settled onto her fur pile, wrapped up as a seated cocoon for warmth. With a sigh, Nimue asked, “Cloves?”

Merlin looked up, an eyebrow arched. He looked… pleased. “Very good. And?”

Nimue bit her bottom lip in thought, letting her fingertips trace the bandages covering her wound. The poultice had all of the medicinal properties covered, so what else could Merlin have thought to add?

“Willow?” Nimue guessed.

Merlin nodded once, wrinkles around his eyes forming to match his small smile. “Yes. For the pain and swelling,” he said.

“The wounds were not too severe?” Nimue asked.

Merlin’s eyebrows rose and his head swayed away, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I don’t feel terrible,” Nimue said.

“Well, my kin, you and I are made of tougher stuff,” Merlin said wryly. Nodding to the fish, he added, “Breakfast is done. Trout or bass?”

“Bass, please,” Nimue asked politely. She tried to hide how eager she was to eat, taking small bites after Merlin pulled the fish off of the spit and handed it to her.

“Careful of the bones,” Merlin murmured.

They ate in companionable silence. Nimue was sure she could have eaten a horse, but the two fish were plenty to fill her belly for the time being. She was nothing if not grateful. When they were done, Nimue had only one thing on her mind. 

She cleared her throat and poised her shoulders, or at least set them straight as best her wounds would allow. Nimue asked, “What are your intentions with the sword?”

Merlin, caught off guard, moved a hand to the hilt subconsciously. His tone was edgy when he replied, “What do you mean, what are my intentions?” 

“Merlin,” she said. Nimue took a breath and rectified her statement. “ _Father_ ,” she corrected. “When I was keeper of the Sword of Power, you did nothing but caution me of its grip. I fear it has a hold on you. Again.”

Merlin’s lip curled, but he didn’t deny her claim.

Nimue continued, “You offered to destroy it. I think we should.”

Merlin turned from Nimue, facing the wood with his eyes downcast.

After a moment, he replied, “Nimue… this sword can accomplish many things for us. For you. For the Fey.”

“I don’t want it. Not from that,” she insisted.

Merlin started shaking his head, but Nimue reached out a hand to Merlin’s arm. He stilled, and she pleaded quietly, “Please. We must. This sword has brought us nothing but pain and grief.”

Merlin pulled away and stood, but she did not let him retreat. Nimue rose to his side and embraced him in a hug. “Father, do it for me,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “If not for me, then for Mother. If you ever loved her at all.”

Merlin stiffened and rebuked, “You know I did.” His tone was harsh when he spat, “I loved your mother more than anyone.” He pulled away from Nimue and nearly growled, “There is no way to know if she wanted for it to be destroyed.”

Nimue slumped at his words, feeling the beginning of defeat. She was all too aware of the way the sword worked its way into the mind. Nimue knew the sword would do _anything_ for the sake of self-preservation. Anything… for revenge.

“Please,” Nimue cried, a tear falling from her lashes. 

Merlin looked down upon his daughter’s face. He let go of the hilt for the first time since the conversation began. 

“I…”

Nimue looked up at him. Merlin saw Lenore’s eyes in Nimue’s face, and the war was again in favor of the women he loved. The sword was no match for them.

“Nimue, I— I…” Merlin stammered, “You’re everything to me.”

Merlin stepped back, fumbling with the belt of the scabbard. With shaking fingers, he unlatched the buckle and let the sword fall to the ground. It hit the surface with a thump. He whispered, “You, Nimue, are the only reason I used it again in the first place.”

“I know,” Nimue said. They stared at each other, steps away, with the sword on the earth between their feet.

“Finding you as my daughter is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. In my entire, long, _damned_ , life,” Merlin admitted, a shaky laugh coming with a nervous smile.

Nimue rolled her eyes and said, “Well, obviously.”

* * *

The Fey fire was difficult to contain, but Merlin completed the spell to destroy the Sword of Power with Nimue’s help. They chanted the incantation together over the roar of the green flames. The metal of the blade melted first. The molten material disappeared into the ground. As it seeped away, colored wisps escaped from the runes and evaporated into thin air. The hilt burned differently, catching fire before it became red-hot. In the end, the only thing left was the section of sword from the pommel to the guard. It was misshapen and disfigured. Proof of the Sword of Power’s final demise.

“I can’t believe it’s gone,” Merlin murmured, watching the green Fey fire die down. The smoldering earth from beneath the incantation served as evidence of what the two had done.

“I can,” Nimue said, raising her chin. “And I’m proud of you. I am sure this task was not easy for you.”

“It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” Merlin admitted. “Leaving your mother was the first. You know, Nimue, how intoxicating this sword could be.” He stared down at the wisps of smoke rising, nudged the deformed hilt with his boot. 

“Like being drunk on the finest wine,” Nimue agreed.

“I am glad to be rid of it,” Merlin said. He squared his shoulders, meeting his daughter’s gaze evenly above the scorched earth. “I could not be more proud that my kin was the one to help me abolish it.”

Nimue smiled and ducked her head to hide it. As she looked toward the sound of the creek, remembering the magic that played out upstream of this historic site, a thought occurred to her.

“Do you feel any different?” Nimue wondered aloud.

“Different?” Merlin parroted. “I suppose not.”

“Merlin…” Nimue asked delicately, more specifically, “Do you still have your magic?”

Merlin looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. With a steeled determination, he gestured at the ground on the edge of the burnt earth. He focused the Hidden to execute his will, murmuring as he waved his hands. Nimue watched with rapt attention at the spot of Merlin’s focus, wondering what her father had cast. Without a moment’s pause, a single rose grew. It rose toward Nimue, sprouting and budding in the span of seconds, blooming in the next breath. It was beautiful. The white petals shone in the evening light, and Nimue felt overcome with emotion at the sight.

“Merlin, this is…” Nimue couldn’t finish her sentence, but her father knew what she meant to say.

He couldn’t keep the smile from his face. Merlin was, to put it plainly, elated. 

“You know what this means, Nimue?” he laughed. Merlin’s whole body went into his laughter. He leaned backward, hands on his hips, robes shaking with his chuckling breaths.

“What?” Nimue smiled. With the sword gone, and her father so happy, she felt the weight of a thousand stones lifted from her shoulders.

“I get to teach you magic,” Merlin winked.

* * *

That night, they caught two rabbits. Merlin and Nimue had foraged for dandelion greens and wild mushrooms during the hunt as well. After the rabbits were cleaned and cooked, they ate in celebration of the work they had done that day. It was a feast for a king and a princess, as far as Nimue’s standards were concerned. She delighted in the meal they made together and felt content as she lounged on the furs after supper. 

“I never realized what I was missing, not having you around as a father,” Nimue admitted, staring at the stars. Merlin had changed her dressings and reapplied a poultice to her wounds. They were healing, but Nimue still had weeks to go until she was full strength.

“I spent all my time missing a man who was no real father to me. My mother had no love for him, and him no love for me,” Nimue said.

Merlin said slowly, “If I had known, I would like to think things would have been different.”

“Me too,” Nimue said in a small voice.

“In a strange way, you and I... we owe a lot to the sword,” Merlin mused.

“How so?” Nimue asked, turning to look at Merlin across the fire. 

He cocked his head, “The sword led me to your mother. And it led you to me.”

Nimue nodded. Truth be told, in the whirlwind of events that had happened since she met Arthur, she hadn’t had a lot of time to think deeply. What Merlin said was true. The sword brought them together, and together they destroyed it. 

From the corner of her eye, Nimue saw Merlin shiver. Her mouth parted in surprise. She chastised herself internally, wondering how she could be so daft. Of course he had given her all the furs. Of course, he had likely been cold the past three days and nights she lay asleep to heal.

“Merlin,” she said abruptly.

He glanced up.

“Take one of these furs, please,” Nimue insisted. 

Merlin shook his head in dissent, but Nimue would not be persuaded. “Then come sit with me,” she said.

Merlin hesitated, but eventually rose at her invitation to escape her pointed stare. He took a seat on the furs next to her, huddling with Nimue beneath the fur she had set around her shoulders. He wrapped an arm around her side, and they sat together in a comforting peace. They stared at the fire for a while until Nimue, growing sleepy, set her head on Merlin’s shoulder. Her father’s shoulder. 

Nimue closed her eyes and thought about her life, the paths she had traveled, and how many times she had almost died just to get here. All of it, every moment of suffering, was worth it for this moment. Warm by a fire with a man who cared about her very much, who could teach her so much about who she was and could grow to be. Being enchanted by the Sword of Power was intoxicating, yes. Addictive, exhilarating, and imperious.

This, though…

Nimue sighed, breathing in the smells of Merlin’s leather cloak and the herbs he kept deep within its pockets. She shifted her cheek, settling further into the safety of her father’s embrace. Nimue let her mind wander, thinking of the future. Merlin would no doubt teach her everything he knew of sorcery; she saw how his eyes lit up in the moment after blooming a single white rose. Her imagination ran even further ahead. Reuniting with Arthur, and a marriage ceremony with Merlin there to witness. Children, olive-skinned and beautiful, running in a field as Merlin gave them apples he grew. Living in a world without war, family at her side, her father there to guide her. Nimue felt the whiskers of his beard tickle her forehead, kept her eyes trained on the dancing orange flames of the campfire, and listened to the serenity of Merlin’s breathing. 

This, Nimue wouldn’t trade for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I the only one in love with this father/daughter thing? Please comment if you liked it!


End file.
